


Learning Curve

by Desade, Eviscera



Series: Ouchy-Verse [2]
Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Angst, Awkward Conversations, M/M, No Shirt No Shoes Makes For A Distracted Norse God, Secrets, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-29
Updated: 2013-07-29
Packaged: 2017-12-21 18:45:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/903604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Desade/pseuds/Desade, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eviscera/pseuds/Eviscera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three days have passed since Clint and Loki's last conversation.  Some questions have been put to rest, while others have been raised in the archer's mind.  First and foremost, what does the god -really- want from him?  And is it something that Clint can even deliver?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Learning Curve

**Author's Note:**

> This is the second in the series of RP threads between Eviscera and myself. The poor boys are still mostly dancing around the real issues, but some things WILL be laid to rest in this installment. 
> 
> Still no smut, I'm afraid. But that comes in the next thread. Promise.

Several days had passed since Loki had made tenuous peace with Agent Barton, and each new day his desire grew to return to the archer’s side.  There was something about the mortal that intrigued him; made him want to learn all he could.  And on the third day, he gave into the urge and returned to his Hawk’s doorstep.

Pushing aside the odd feel of anticipation that twisted in his belly, Loki knocked twice and waited.  When there was no immediate answer, he rapped again.  After a few moments, he realized that Barton must be out.  Loki huffed a small sigh of disappointment, and, remembering how poorly he had been received the last time he’d let himself in to the archer’s dwelling, he leaned against the wall to await Barton’s return. 

Clint’s tread was heavy as he climbed the stairs to his apartment, one hand gripping the railing every other step to keep his balance.  He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been on a mission that terrible before, and he was willing to bet Fury had something to do with assigning him that particular detail.  He’d been called back to duty almost immediately following his last meeting with Loki, and when Clint reported in, Fury had been even more closed-off than usual, which was telling in itself.

Three days of surveillance, sitting in a sniper’s nest, waiting for a target he wasn’t even sure existed.  It was Fury’s version of a ‘time-out’, it wasn’t the first time, not with his record of insubordination.  He wasn’t sure what he did to warrant it, it wasn’t like he’d been expressly orderedto keep away from Loki.  Hell, he hadn’t even known he was back, let alone that he would show up at his apartment like a stray cat.

Clint was just glad to be home.  He’d been called off only a few hours ago, sat through the most tedious debriefing he’d ever given, and he just wanted to get something to eat, a shower, and then fall into bed. 

He really should have been more surprised to see the figure leaning against the wall beside his door, but the last few days had been just boring enough that he almost welcomed the sight of Loki awaiting him.

“You again,” he said, reaching into his pocket for his keys to unlock the door.  “At least you waited this time.  How long have you been here?”

He stepped inside, leaving the door ajar in an obvious invitation.

Trailing in behind the obviously weary archer, Loki closed the door as he replied, “Not overly long, Agent Barton.  Just a few hours.”

Clint snorted as he tossed his keys into a bowl on mantle, and headed toward the kitchen.  ”Hope you didn’t freak out any of my neighbors,” he called back over one shoulder.

“There _was_ one rather ancient woman that kept a studious eye on me after the first hour,” Loki grinned.  ”She seemed quite suspicious, but eventually lost interest.”

Crossing the room, Loki leaned against the archway into the kitchen as Clint  opened the refrigerator and peered inside.  ”Want something to drink?  I’ve got beer, and…beer.”

“Thank you, but no,” Loki replied as Clint bumped the door closed with his hip and twisted the cap off of a dark brown bottle.  He tossed it blindly toward the garbage can on the other side of the room, and Loki smiled as the small metal disc dropped neatly into the receptacle.  ”Your aim is as impressive as ever, I see.”

Clint shrugged and took a long pull from the bottle as he leaned back against the counter.  ”So what brings you back here,” he asked, eyeing Loki expectantly. 

“No one thing in particular,” Loki said, his eyes roaming the tiny details of the apartment, and yet always alighting back to Clint, as if he was the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen.

Clint scoffed internally at that and went about searching through his cupboards to find something edible.  He’d left grocery shopping at the bottom of his priority list for too long again, it seemed.

“You must really be bored, then,” he said, reaching into one cupboard and pulling out a box of… something.  He didn’t even remember buying it.  He looked at the expiration date, curled his lip, and tossed it into the trash, again without looking.  “You spend hours waiting for me to get home and now you’re watching me clean out the cupboards.”  Another box inspected, another toss into the trash.  He was going to starve at this rate.

“Boredom is something I find myself burdened with quite often these days,” Loki sighed.  ”But it was not mere boredom that brought me to your door.  I wished to see how you’ve fared since our last meeting.”

“Oh, just great,” Clint said, his words dripping in sarcasm.  ”Work sucks.  But then, when doesn’t it?  Haven’t gotten much sleep in the past few days.  I’m in desperate need of a shower.  And now I’m on the verge of passing out from hunger.  But other than all that, I’ve been peachy.”

“You must tend to your needs better than that, Agent Barton,” Loki chided gently.

Clint gave the God a sideways look.  ”I _just_ got home, remember?  You were there.  Waiting.”

“Indeed,” Loki replied with a small smile.  ”Now if you would permit me to do you a service?  You obviously have nothing edible here, and yet you require food.  I will go and procure nourishment while you see to your other needs.”

The offer caught Clint by surprise.  ”Why…would you do that?”

“Is that not what friends do, Agent Barton?  Offer help to one another?”

“So, we’re _friends_ now?”

“Perhaps not quite yet,” Loki mused.  ”But on our way, I think.”

Clint stared for a few moments, completely taken aback. 

“I didn’t know that was something you were after,” he finally said, eying Loki warily.

“It is not something I am “after”, Agent Barton,” Loki told him, straightening his posture as if Clint’s words had offended him.  “Consider the invitation extended.  It is entirely up to you if you choose to accept it.”

Clint took a moment to think on Loki’s words, setting the questions aside for the time being.  It was true that the last several months had been hard, and in that time, not one single person (save perhaps Natasha, but that was still a sore subject) had tried to be anything like a friend to him. 

How much would it have helped to be able to talk to someone about what he was going through, someone who wouldn’t judge or try to talk him into believing everything was fine when it clearly wasn’t?  To talk him through his nightmares with something other than a condescending “get over it, Barton, you’re not five years old,”?  Someone who had maybe been in his shoes, who knew what it was like to be twisted inside out?

If anyone knew what he’d been through, it would be the person who had put him through it in the first place.  And if things really were different now, and he really did mean what he said, then maybe this was what Clint needed to finally be able to put everything behind him.

“You’re buying, right?”

A grin spread across Loki’s face at Barton’s question.  ”Of course.  I offered, so I am prepared to pay.  Go and do that which needs done, and I will return shortly.”

Clint gave a brief nod and drained the rest of his beer.  He pushed off the counter and tossed the bottle into the trash before pausing to give Loki an appraising look.  ”Thanks,” he said simply.

Loki inclined his head slightly toward the smaller man, and then stepped aside to let him pass.  ”You are welcome.”

“You can let yourself back in if I’m still in the shower,” Clint called over one shoulder as he headed toward the bathroom.  ”I promise to not try and shoot you this time.”

“That would be appreciated,” Loki said with a small laugh.

Clint listened to the sound of the door closing quietly and let out a tense breath he didn’t even know he’d been holding.  His guard had been up since he’d first seen Loki leaning against the wall beside his door, his shoulders tense and acutely aware of ever small  movement the demigod made, right down to the sound of his breathing. 

The shower was a welcome distraction; he’d been sleeping in his clothes for the past two nights, and it was pretty obvious.  He felt disgusting, and heaved a sigh of relief as he finally shed them before stepping under the warm spray.

Normally, his showers were perfunctory; get in, get clean, get out.  The white noise of the running water gave his mind a backdrop for his tangled thoughts, however, and there was a massive knot of them when it came to his thoughts on Loki.

Clint wasn’t sure if it was still hatred he felt for him.  That had been dulled since their last meeting, but there was still too much bitter resentment for him to be comfortable calling him a friend.  These little gestures - showing up at his apartment, offering him food, even just talking to him - almost made Clint think he was being courted.

He let out an amused snort at the mental image of Loki showing up at his door with a bouquet of flowers.

He liked to think that, even with their cultural differences, Loki could appreciate how abysmally that would go over.

So, Clint figured he would give the god a chance to talk, to plead his case, and then he would decide what to make of these strange overtures. 

Stepping out of the shower, Clint reached for a towel to dry off and kept an ear out for any sounds of movement in the other room.  The longer Clint spent with him, the longer he thought of Loki as a great cat, silent and curious and annoyingly clingy.  It made keeping track of him more difficult than he liked.

“Fuck it, I’m not putting those back on,” he muttered, kicking distastefully at the pile of clothes on the floor.  Instead, he wrapped the towel around his waist and stepped out of the bathroom.

As Loki made his way out onto the street, he mulled over Clint’s words and actions during their brief time together.  His phrasing had told Loki that the archer was still not fully at ease, and that troubled the God.  He wished for nothing more than to drive the shadows from the smaller man’s eyes, and to not be the cause of the tension he had noted in his broad shoulders.  Hopefully that would come in time, and with repeated reassurances of Loki’s want of nothing more than Clint’s peace.

Wandering up the street, Loki considered what sort of sustenance the archer would enjoy.  Just ahead he spotted a Chinese restaurant that looked promising and ducked inside, deciding on the spot to order one of everything, since he was unsure what would appeal to Clint.

Clint was just pulling on a clean pair of pants when he heard the sound of footsteps approaching.  He left his bedroom to meet Loki as he stepped through the door, carrying bags he hoped contained something edible.  He wasn’t picky, he’d eat literally anything at this point.

“That was quick,” he said, stepping into the room and running a hand through his still-drying hair. 

Loki had frozen completely, still standing on the threshold of the doorway, bags hanging forgotten in his slack fingers.  At Clint’s words, his brow furrowed and he blinked several times before turning to shut the door behind him.  When he turned back, he wouldn’t raise his eyes or even look in Clint’s direction, merely setting the bags on the nearest flat surface.

“I was unsure what you preferred,” he said, still not looking at him.  Clint raised a brow before going over to the bags to peek inside.  “I hope this will do well enough.”

“Hell, I was getting ready to eat that questionable sandwich I found in my fridge before you got here,” Clint said, reaching into one bag and drawing out a box of… something.  He opened the lid.  Chicken, he guessed.  Whatever, he was starving. 

With a fork from the drainer in one hand and box of food in the other, Clint hiked himself up onto the counter, bare feet swinging, and eyed Loki from across the room.

“So what’s the occasion?” he asked before taking his first bite.  “You can’t be _that_ bored to just come by like this.”  He twirled the fork between his fingers as he waited for Loki’s reply.

Loki busied himself transferring the containers of food into the kitchen, eyes still downcast.  As he arranged them on the counter near Clint, he murmured, “I wished to see if our previous…conversation had granted you any peace of mind.  You seemed much changed when I made my exit.”  

Opening one of the boxes, Loki sniffed delicately, and then reached for a set of chopsticks.  Breaking them apart, he deftly fished out a snow pea pod and bit it in half.  As he chewed, he lifted his eyes to catch Clint staring at him, his own container of food seemingly forgotten.  Hurriedly dropping his gaze, Loki stabbed the chopsticks into the vegetables, stirring them about.  ”Have you been well,” he asked softly.

“No,” Clint said honestly.  Loki looked up sharply, meeting his eye for the briefest of moments before dropping back to his food.  “I spent the last three days as Fury’s little bitch.  I haven’t slept, I haven’t eaten.  Hell, I haven’t even talked to anyone other than my debriefing, and I’m pretty sure they were laughing at me while I gave it.”  Clint stabbed his fork into his food and set it aside, leaning back on his hands to glare at the opposite wall. 

“So, nothing has changed, then?” Loki murmured, looking sidelong at Clint’s angry profile.

“I didn’t say that,” Clint was quick to correct him.  “I was just answering your question.  I had a lot of time to think while I was stuck up in my nest.  Wasn’t much else to do.” 

He could tell Loki wanted to ask, but he held back from goading the obviously irritated archer with inane questions.  Clint was tempted to let him stew in his uncertainty, but decided that he at least owed him for getting him food.

“I don’t hate you,” he finally said, still staring across the room, crossing his feet at the ankles and kicking one foot against the other.  “I’m still pissed at you, I think you’re still kind of an asshole for what you said to Nat, but I think I get it now.”

Loki had gone still at this admission.  Even his breath had stopped.  Clint picked his box of food back up and took another bite while he waited for Loki to thaw enough to reply.

Loki held his silence for several long minutes, picking through the container he held in his hand, nibbling at the assortment of vegetables as he tried to formulate a response.  Finally, he set aside the box and said with a sigh, “I am glad you have moved past your hatred, Agent Barton.  But I still deserve a measure of anger for my actions.  Punishment alone cannot wipe that away.”

The God turned his gaze to his former Hawk and continued.  ”If I may ask, just for clarity’s sake, what exactly do you ‘get’ as to my comments to Agent Romanov?”

Loki waited tensely for the archer to explain, and as he did, his eyes traveled over Clint’s unclothed upper half.  The amount of scars the man carried shocked him, and it occurred to Loki that each had a story attached.  Each a testament to some violence that Barton had survived. This piqued his curiosity, and made him that much more eager to truly know all he could of his Hawk’s past.

“I told you before, I watched that footage.  I heard everything.  You think I don’t know what a scared kid sounds like?”

The glare he got for those words was almost worth pissing him off.  “What does _that_ mean, Agent Barton?”

Clint chewed a mouthful of his food carefully, holding Loki’s gaze steadily before he answered.  “I’ve been around, you know?  Hell, I used to _be_ the scared kid.  And when you’re scared and backed into a corner, you say whatever you think will hurt someone the most.  You can’t tell me you weren’t backed into a corner, Loki.  I still don’t know what you were planning to do with that damn cube, and at this point, it doesn’t matter.  But you were never gonna win.  And I think you knew that from the very beginning.”

The God seemed to deflate at Clint’s accusation, the heat going out of his glare almost immediately.  ”Was it that obvious,” he asked quietly.

Clint’s brow furrowed at how easily Loki affirmed his suspicions.  He’d expected a bit more outrage over the suggestion that Loki had been in over his head.  But instead, he’d just…folded.  

Shrugging, Clint said, “To someone that _knows_ that behavior?  Yeah.”

Loki looked down at his hands, twining nervously in his lap.  When he began to speak, his voice held a far away quality, almost as if he were speaking to himself. 

“When I…fell, I suffered far more damage than I initially thought I would.  Mentally, physically, and emotionally.  And when the Other found me, I welcomed the support.  The chance to set right what I saw as the slights done to me.  It was not until I had promised far too much in return for his help that I saw the truth in the matter.  I was but a means to an end, and once he had what he so lusted after, I would be…disposable.”  

Loki paused, his mouth twisting into an expression of distaste before he took in a deep breath and continued.

“In a moment of clarity, I realized that the Other could not be allowed to possess the Tesseract.  Not only for my own sense of self preservation, but for the fact that once he had done away with me, there would be nothing to stop him from ravaging _all_ the Nine Realms.  Everyone and everything I had ever held dear would be in grave danger.  And that is why I chose Midgard as my ‘kingdom’.  Thor had vowed to protect this world, and I knew that should I attempt to bring harm here, he would soon follow.”

Lifting his gaze, he speared Clint with a pained look.  ”So, yes.  I had no plans to succeed here.  And I was very much a frightened child, crying out for his brother to save him.”

Loki’s answer didn’t sit well with Clint at all.  He couldn’t help feeling resentful, almost betrayed.  He could have asked for help from the very beginning, instead of trying to cause as much chaos as he could before he was brought down.  Even if things had gone badly, it couldn’t have been any worse than what had already happened.  The city would have been safe, the lives taken could have been spared.

Clint would still have had his own mind.

His hands clenched into fists and he had to look away from that broken look in Loki’s eyes before his anger could resurface.  He knew, in his mind, that Loki had to be seen at least making an effort at subjugation.  It had to be convincing, at least until his brother showed up.  His less rational side, however, had a _big_ problem with being made into a pawn in Loki’s scheme, a bit player in a much grander production.

“And how disposable were we to _you_?” he asked, his eyes still averted.  “Was it true, what you told Natasha, about what you would have me do once you were finished with me?”

“No,” Loki exclaimed vehemently.  ”There was not the smallest shred of truth in anything I said to Agent Romanov!  You were there, Agent Barton.  At my side all the while I communicated with the Other.  Surely you saw that he was as firmly entrenched in my mind as I was in yours!”

Loki rose to his feet and began pacing nervously.  ”I _did_ speak the truth when I said that the Tesseract touches everyone in a different manner.  She allowed me to take control of you, but I was swayed as well.  Not as deeply; but I was…compromised nonetheless.  For a time, the Other’s desire’s became my own, but his hold on me was tenuous.  Once I realized what his…intentions were…well, I had to be quite careful he did not discover my deception.”

Turning a pleading gaze at Clint, Loki asked in low tone.  ”Do you see now why your forgiveness means so much to me?  I visited the same fate upon you that I suffered at the hands of the Other.”

Clint listened to the desperation in Loki’s voice.  It was becoming clear to him that he’d struck a nerve.  He just didn’t know this particular nerve was so sensitive. 

“Yeah, that sucks,” Clint allowed, leaning back on his palms and kicking one foot out to crack his ankle.  “We both got fucked over pretty bad, huh?  ‘Cept one of us had a choice.” 

Loki’s face crumpled into one of utter despair.  “Agent Barton, I-“

“Hold up, I’m not done talking, jeeze,” Clint interrupted.  “You had a choice, but in the toss-up between the one you made and the alternative, you probably did us all a favor.”

Loki blinked at him, his mouth snapping shut before he uttered a hesitant, “What?”

“So the creepy aliens attacked us, right?  And we kicked their asses, because that’s what we do around here for fun, and then your brother took that fucking cube off somewhere and good fucking riddance.”  When Loki still only stared in confusion, Clint went on as if trying to explain something complicated to a five-year-old.  “My point, Princess, is we’re all still alive because of you.  Even if you were only out to save your own ass, doesn’t change the fact that cube obviously didn’t fall into the wrong hands and the universe didn’t implode or whatever.  So, good job.”

“I certainly did not expect you to be so flippant about an attempt to bare my soul,” Loki said stiffly.  ”In all the long years of my punishment, these are things I kept jealously guarded, and admitted to no one.  Not even Thor knows the entirety of what occurred with the Other.  Or why my need to earn your forgiveness is so strong.  I assumed you, of all people, would understand.”

Turning his face away from Clint, Loki huffed out a soft breath and muttered, “Good job.”

“That’s what I said,” Clint replied.

“I do not know that that particular expression has ever been applied to anything I have ever done,” Loki said as he levered a quick glace at the archer.  ”It feels strange.”

“Maybe that’s the problem,” Clint said, tilting his head to the side.  At Loki’s raised eyebrow, he went on.  “You think you’re made up of all the shit no one wants because they’ve never told you any different.  I used to be the same way.  I wasn’t always this awesome, you know.”

Loki leveled a flat look at the archer.  “Now you’re just openly mocking me,” he said.

“I’m really not,” Clint said.  “Everything you admire so much about me, I had to drag out of myself, because no one else was ever gonna do it.  Got sick of people telling me what I was.  I found something I was good at, and made myself the best at it.  That shut them up pretty quick.”

Loki’s gaze turned speculative as he mulled over those words.  Clint took the time to finish what was left of his food and toss the empty box in the trash.  Let Loki think he was being flippant, he still meant what he said.

“There is… not much I am good at that I am proud of, Agent Barton,” Loki finally said.

“You’re good at plenty, that’s not the point,” Clint said, lowering himself from the counter top to lean against it, arms crossed over his chest.  “Stop telling yourself you need anyone’s approval.  Whether you like it or not, whether you accept it or not, you did something no one else could.  Even if it was selfish, it doesn’t change anything.  So yeah.  Good job.”

Loki tried to quash the small, pleased grin that was spreading across his face, but without much success.  He wondered briefly what it was about the archer that caused his moods to be so mercurial. Then, putting that thought aside, Loki instead focused on all that Clint had said.

He was right, of course.  Every word steeped in truth, and exactly what Loki had needed to hear.  He didn’t know when he had become so dependent on winning the approval of others, but he did know that the time had passed for such nonsense. 

Loki gave a brief nod, and allowed the grin to fully manifest.  ”Words of wisdom are something I need to allow myself to receive, and put into practice, far more often.  You are correct, Agent Barton.  And truly, the only approval I must seek is my own.”

Something lightened in Clint’s chest at the sight of Loki’s smile.  It was so different from the one he was used to seeing, the demented grin of a psychopath.  He couldn’t help but wonder what things would have been like if anyone else had ever been able to make him smile like that. 

“I wouldn’t call them words of wisdom,” Clint said, rubbing the back of his neck in an oddly sheepish gesture.  “But yeah, glad we got that straightened out.  You should listen to me more often.”

“Do not be modest, Agent Barton,” Loki chided.  ”Wisdom is exactly what you have delivered.  And perhaps I _will_ take your advice into consideration more often, now that we are on relatively good terms.”

Loki studied the mortal standing before him, and again his curiosity rose as to what had shaped Clint Barton into the man he was slowly coming to know.  What events had brought him to this point?  What had left him so scarred yet in possession of such confidence that he felt no need to hide the reminders of previous pain?

“And you should be flattered,” Loki teased lightly.  ”For you have accomplished something that Odin All-Father himself had never been able to bring about.”

Clint’s brows drew together and he gave Loki a curious look.

“You’ve managed to convince me to listen to reason,” Loki grinned.

A hint of a smile tugged at Clint’s mouth.  “Trust me, I ain’t modest,” he said, stepping away from the counter to cross the kitchen. 

He passed Loki by a few scant inches on his way to his bedroom to find a shirt.  He didn’t miss the way those sharp green eyes followed him, or the questions burning behind them.  Whatever they were, if Loki wanted to know bad enough, he’d ask.

“As for being flattered, that doesn’t really work on me,” he called from the other room, the sound muffled by the fabric of the shirt he was pulling down over his head.  “Glad you got your head out of your ass, though.  ‘Bout time.”

Loki bristled at that, on the verge of an extremely cutting retort, when he stepped out of the other room with an amused smirk on his face.

“You’re gonna have to learn to take a joke now and then, too,” he said, leaning on the doorjamb with one foot propped against the other.  “‘Specially if you’re hanging out with me.”

:Loki hummed thoughtfully.  “Yes, I am beginning to see that now, Agent Barton.”

Clint winced and gave him a scathing look.  “Another thing; you can quit calling me that.  It’s what my boss calls me when he’s pissed I blew something up I wasn’t supposed to.  At least stop calling me ‘Agent’.  I’m pretty sure we’re past that.”

“Your modesty is a fickle beast, it seems,” Loki replied simply.  ”You have no issues with displaying your form, but a mere compliment to your words causes you to react with what _seemed_ to be embarrassment.  You mortals are…curious.” 

“There’s a difference between being modest and taking a compliment well,” Clint shrugged.

“If I am to learn to laugh at myself, then in turn _you_ must learn to accept praise.  Even in my darkest times, I have never been above praising those that deserve it.”  

Loki stepped from the kitchen and crossed to the window to gaze down at the street below.  After a long moment of silence, he asked, “What would you have me call you?  I kept to ‘Agent Barton’ as a sign of respect.  After all, that _is_ your title, is it not?”

Clint looked to the side uncomfortably.  “I never really held much with titles,” he said.  “Besides, I’m not an agent right now, anyway.  I guess, just drop the title.  Or, you can call me Clint.  Nat’s the only one who ever calls me that, though.”

He watched the reflection of Loki’s face in the glass, gauging his expressions carefully.  He may not be on duty at the moment, but he would never be able to shake the training ingrained into him.  Some small part of him still wanted to consider Loki a threat. 

He wondered when that part had become the minority.  Clint’s curiosity was starting to take the forefront, overshadowing the caution more and more with each of their meetings.  It was becoming harder to drag up the anger and resentment from the past, though it was still there, lingering beneath the surface. 

Clint hoped he wouldn’t have an occasion to dig it back up.

“Barton, then,” he said slowly, letting the name roll off his tongue, feeling somewhat foreign without the preceding ’Agent’ he was accustomed to using.  Loki rested his forehead against the window and watched the people on the street below, scurrying busily about their lives.  He wondered how many were present on the day of his failed attempt to rule, and felt a twinge of regret in his breast.

Pushing away that ever-present sadness, Loki stepped back from the window and folded his arms across his chest.  Turning, he caught Clint’s eye as the archer gave him a contemplative look.

“Tell me more about yourself, Barton,” Loki asked.  ”I realize now how very little I know of you…and I am curious.”

Clint wasn’t surprised when Loki chose not to call him by his given name.  He didn’t seem the type given to easy familiarity, preferring to hide behind an aloof mask until he was absolutely sure nothing could touch him.

Which was completely opposite of Clint, who spoke his mind, often without a filter between his brain and his mouth.  His superiors thought it arrogance, and sometimes it even was, but there was a lot to be learned about someone in their reactions to his words.  He’d already learned more about Loki than the god probably suspected.  Most of it, he would probably prefer Clint didn’t know.

This thinly-veiled overture of friendly banter was really Loki’s desperate attempt at creating some kind of connection to his past self, before the hunger for power corrupted him.  He wanted to have some validation that he wasn’t still the monster he’d been twisted into.

Clint didn’t have the heart to tell him that would always be a part of who he was now.  There was no undoing what had been done, no forgetting.  He knew this quite intimately.

Instead of telling him all of this, Clint just shrugged one shoulder and looked out the same window that had held Loki’s attention.  “I’m not good at talking about myself.  Not the stuff people actually care about, anyway.  But I guess I do owe you.  What do you want to know?”

Loki tilted his head and considered the archer’s expression as he spoke.  It was obvious that his skill at speaking about himself was not the issue at stake; but that he did not _like_ to do so.  Something in Clint’s past gave him pause, and Loki feared undoing their tenuous connection by asking the wrong thing.  He would have to tread carefully.

“What do you do with your time when you are not in the employ of S.H.I.E.L.D.?  Assuming that there _are_ such times that they leave you to your own devices.”

Clint had to think about that one for a moment.  He couldn’t remember a time in the recent past where he hadn’t been under a microscope.

“Nothing much,” he began hesitantly.  “Like I told you before, the PTB have me on a pretty short leash.  If I’m not working, I’m here.  I go to the range for a few hours after I get off-duty, but that doesn’t really count as my own devices, does it?”  Clint let out an amused huff, rolling his eyes.  “I guess I’m pretty pathetic now that I think about it.”

“Pathetic,” Loki chuckled.  ”No.  That is _not_ a word I would associate with one such as yourself.  And I suppose it only makes sense that your organization would not allow you too much in the way of freedom after…well, after what occurred.”

Crossing to the couch, Loki perched upon the back, facing Clint.  ”What _would_ you do, if given complete freedom?  If you could slip not only the shackles of S.H.I.E.L.D., but of your own troubled thoughts?  What brings you joy, Barton?”

A humorless chuckle met that question. “You don’t believe in asking the easy ones, do you?  You couldn’t ask me what my favorite color is or something like that?”

:Loki gave him a smirk.  “You can answer that one, as well, if you like.  I wish to know as much as you are willing to tell.”

Clint gave him a wary look, eyes searching those of the other man for a few moments, before giving a mental shrug. 

“I think I’d like to just be able to take a walk outside and _not_ know all the things I do about this fucked-up place,” he said.  He straightened from the archway to stand in front of the window, arms crossed over his chest as his eyes scanned over every detail.  “Some things are so much simpler when you’re on the inside.  When you live in a sewer for so long, you can’t smell the shit.  Do you know why they keep me around?” 

He turned those sniper’s eyes to Loki, who could only stare back and shake his head.

“I see better from a distance,” he said simply, and turned back to the window.  “Really changes your perspective on a lot of things.  Most people only see what’s right in front of them because they never think to look around.  I guess I wasn’t happy with that.”

“And you wish to return to this… hive-mind mentality?” Loki asked.  He sounded almost horrified by the idea.

“Didn’t say _that_ ,” Clint scoffed.  “Some things I could be better off not knowing about, is all.”

“True of us all,” Loki murmured, almost to himself.

Clint hummed in agreement.  “Oh, and it’s purple, by the way.”

Loki allowed himself a bright smile, pleased to see that the tension was gone from the archer’s shoulders.  His stance was relaxed, and Loki was gratified that Clint trusted him enough to turn his back to him without a second thought. _’What a change a few days brings,’_ he thought.

“Purple suits you, Barton.  A regal color,” Loki teased.  ”I do not suppose I have to tell you which I prefer.  I’m sure you are observant enough to have noticed my penchant for green.  Now.  Have you any questions for me?”

Clint was quiet for a moment, regarding the reflection of Loki in the window.  The answers he wanted were probably going to put a strain on this tentative bond they’d managed to form, but he couldn’t _not_ ask.  It was his stubborn nature.

“Maybe just a couple,” he admitted, turning away from the window to face the god, who was watching him curiously.  “You said you find me ‘intriguing’.  Why is that?  It’s not just the whole mind-control thing making you feel guilty.  You did the same thing to Selvig, and I doubt you’ve been showing up randomly at _his_ door.  So what gives?  What’s so special about me?”

Loki’s eyes widened slightly and he murmured, “It seems we both avoid the easy questions.”  Huffing out a soft breath, the god thought frantically, scrabbling for an answer that would satisfy the archer.

“Seems that way,” Clint grinned, secretly pleased at catching Loki off guard.

Several long minutes passed in silence, and just as Clint was beginning to give up ever prying an answer from the man before him, Loki sighed.

“You’re right, of course.  I have yet to visit Selvig, nor do I think I ever will.  He, like all the others in my thrall, gave up their secrets rather easily.   _You_ did not.  There was something within you that railed against my control and refused to offer up everything.  Parts of you remained shut to me.  I would catch a fragment, but when I sought out the full bit of information, it would slip away like a shadow.”  Loki paused, giving Clint a piercing look.  ”I was never able to ascertain _exactly_ what happened in Budapest.  That was an especially well hidden secret of yours.”

Clint just raised an eyebrow as him and Loki continued with a small shrug.  ”That is what is so ‘special’ about you, Barton.  You remained a mystery to me, when all others laid bare their souls.  Pair that with the fact that I found myself…relying on you more than any of the others, and well…that sparked an attraction.”

“Attraction,” Clint asked slowly, leveling a contemplative gaze at the God.

“Connection.  That is what I meant,” Loki quickly replied.  ”Not that you are displeasing to the eyes, Barton,” he added, in a teasing manner.

A lot of things were beginning to make sense now, Clint thought, as he let Loki’s answer filter through his mind.  He could see why the god would be drawn to the challenge he’d presented with his stubborn refusal to let him entirely into his mind.  Much like a child forbidden from entering a locked room, he would find any way to pick the lock and see what was so coveted. 

His little slip was telling in itself, and Clint was suspicious of that from the very start.  Loki was no idiot, he was too smart to let something like that just fall out of his mouth.  No, Clint was willing to bet he was being tested, and Loki was waiting to see how he would react to this particular bit of flattery.

Well, like he’d told him before, flattery didn’t work on him.

“So, this… connection,” he said, choosing to ignore the slip for the time being.  “That’s why you keep coming around?  What, like I was your favorite toy or something?  And yeah, I _am_ way cuter than Selvig.”

Loki stiffened, brows drawing together.  ”You were indeed my favorite, Barton.  But I would _not_ call you my toy.  A challenge?  Yes.  A worthy adversary?  Absolutely.  Something to be played with and used for the sake of amusement?  Definitely not.”

Shaking his head, Loki rose to his feet.  ”I may have had you mostly under my control, but that in no way rendered you a toy.”

Turning from Clint’s steady gaze, Loki roamed about the room, running his fingertips over everything, picking up various bric-a-brac and turning them over in his slender hands before setting them down again.  “And yes,” he continued in a quiet voice.  ”That connection is what keeps drawing me back.  All throughout my long years in Hel, when I had naught but my memories to sustain what little remained of my sanity, your face rose in my mind.  Again and again, I puzzled over what allowed you to cloak parts of yourself so completely.  You made me curious, Barton.”

Clint watched Loki move through his living room, his eyes following his every movement with a sniper’s detachment.  He made note of the things that seemed to hold his interest longer than most.  There seemed to be no hidden motive, no rhyme or reason.  He supposed it was just as he’d said; he was curious.

“So it’s _not_ because I’m cute?” Clint asked, his voice dripping with sardonic disappointment.

Loki merely gave him a withering glare over his shoulder and continued his inspection.

“Look, I don’t know what you want me to tell you,” he said, finally dropping the facade.  “I’m a stubborn, insubordinate brat.  My boss will tell you i talk too much, but it’s never anything he actually wants to hear.  I’m good at keeping secrets.”

“You are showing yourself to be quite insufferable,” Loki conceded. 

“Well, we have that in common, don’t we?” Clint said, throwing Loki a childish grin when he turned to scowl at him.  “Jokes, Princess.  Remember?”

Loki felt the corner of his mouth lift in amusement at the grin Clint shone his way.  The archer truly seemed to enjoy baiting him, and for some reason, that pleased Loki.  Perhaps it was as simple as knowing that he was the author of such an expression of joy.  Perhaps it was more.  Loki found his thoughts on the matter to be quite convoluted.  

Of course, he could have done without the strange term of endearment that Barton seemed to have gifted him with.  After all, he was a Prince of Asgard; _not_ a Princess.  But no matter.  It was a small price to pay in return for being the target for that smile.

“Yes, I remember,” Loki smirked.  ”But…to classify as a ‘joke’, does that not require that the statement be in some way amusing?”

“Well, it’s amusing to _me_ ,” Clint chuckled.

“That much is obvious,” Loki returned, his smirk fading into a fond smile. “Although you _do_ seem to be easily amused.”

Clint shrugged.  “Beats taking everything so seriously.  I learned that a long time ago.  Some things are just so fucked up you can’t do anything _but_ laugh.”

Loki was watching him carefully, his head tilted just slightly to the side.  “Is that how you see my interest in you?  As something… ‘fucked up’?”

Clint couldn’t help the smile that crossed his face at the idea of Loki swearing.  For some reason, he just didn’t strike him as the type to use such language.

“Maybe,” he said, scrubbing a hand through his hair, tousling it even more than it was already.  “We had kind of a rough start, don’t you think?”

Loki nodded, a thoughtful cast to his features.  ”Oh yes.  Our beginning was quite traumatic.  Although, I find it comforting that we have progressed to this point so rapidly.  It gives me reason to believe that someday you may even allow me to claim you as a friend.”

Clint was quiet for a moment, taking in the guarded hope that glittered in Loki’s eyes.  ”Stranger things have happened,” he finally replied.

“Indeed they have,” Loki agreed, seeming pleased to not have been denied outright.  ”Especially when I am involved.”

Clint was beginning to see a great many things about Loki the longer they spoke.  The way he kept coming back around the subject of friendship, the more Clint realized that Loki was desperately lonely, so much so that he was seeking out the one person he felt he had wronged above all others.  Who else but Clint would know even a fraction of the hell he’d gone through under the Tesseract’s influence?  Not even Thor could really understand, though Clint was sure he’d tried. 

:Loki was as lost as Clint was himself, with barely anyone to turn to when the memories and nightmares became too much.  The two of them made some twisted kind of sense in that respect.  The shrink the agency wanted him to talk to would probably classify it as some form of Stockholm Syndrome, but Clint couldn’t help but feel an odd sympathy for the lost god, who kept coming back like a stray cat he’d fed and now couldn’t get rid of.

“You do tend to make things more interesting, I’ll give you that,” Clint finally said.  “It’s kinda nice to have someone around who causes more trouble than I do.”

“Oh yes,” Loki chuckled.  ”Trouble is one area in which I definitely outshine you, Barton.”  Smoothing back a wayward strand of ebony hair, Loki rolled his eyes and said, “God of Mischief, you know.”

“How could I forget,” Clint snorted, shaking his head ruefully.

Loki grinned at the archer as he struggled to maintain a stern expression in the face of the god’s playful response.  Finally, the corner of his mouth twitched into a smirk, which degenerated into a full laugh and Loki nodded, pleased.

“At least you do not seem to mind my presence here.  I will admit that I was worried you would not accept my overtures, and send me away.  I…enjoy spending time with you, Barton.  I feel a strange sense of ease when we are together.”

“Strange is right, considering a week ago I still wanted to kill you,” Clint said, giving Loki a sideways glance from hooded eyes.  “Hell, a few _days_ ago I wanted to kill you.”

Loki stayed silent, though it was clear from his expression that Clint’s words still affected him. 

“So now here we are,” he went on, eyes darting around the room before alighting back on Loki.  “I wouldn’t say friends, yet.  Getting there, maybe.”

There was no hiding Loki’s reaction to those words.  The slight widening of the eyes, the hitch to his breath, the way his spine seemed to straighten.  Clint looked away, suddenly overcome with an aching feeling in his throat.  With those few words, it looked like he’d given the god everything he’d been too afraid to ask for.

Loki felt a warm glow spread throughout his chest at Clint’s admission.  This was far more than he had hoped for when he had first considered pleading his case to the archer.  He’d known that the mortal had every reason to hate him, and the fault for that lay with Loki himself.  That knowledge had stung, but Loki had prepared himself for a denial; had expected it, truth be told.  What he had _not_ expected was for Clint to actually listen to him.  To accept him.  To _want_ him in his life.  But everything the archer was saying, while couched in sarcasm and ‘jokes’, still led the god to believe that Clint not only accepted him, but _enjoyed_ his presence.

There was so much Loki wanted to say; so many responses warring with one another.  But finally he just ducked his head slightly and said in a soft voice, “Thank you.  That is more than I could ever ask.”

Clint gave Loki a long, searching look before shrugging and finding something neutral to rest his gaze on. 

“Yeah, well, sad as it is, you’re the only person to even want to try being friends with me since this whole mess happened.  So I guess I know how you feel.  Kinda.”

It wasn’t until he’d said it out loud to someone else that it really hit him, though, how isolated he’d become since the Tesseract stole his will.  No one trusted him anymore, not even his best friend.  He couldn’t remember the last honest-to-God conversation he’d had that wasn’t limited to debriefings and situation reports. 

His jaw clenched at the idea that he’d fallen so low after clawing his way to the place he’d made for himself.  His boss and fellow agents were constantly telling him he was too arrogant for his own good, but damn it, he’d earned every fucking bit of his ego. 

All that came to a screeching halt the moment that scepter touched his chest. 

How ironic that the one who caused his fall was the one so desperate to build him back up.

He lifted his eyes back to see Loki watching him warily, and again, Clint couldn’t help but be reminded of a skittish stray debating whether it should come within kicking distance.  He wasn’t sure he liked seeing that look on his face.

“So I guess I should ask you what you’ve been up to for the last year,” he said, asking the first thing he actually wanted to know in an attempt to break the tension between them.  “You know my story.  What’s yours?”

Loki seemed to shrink into himself at Clint’s question.  ”Oh,” he said quietly, eyes downcast.  ”Well, the majority of what you experienced as a year, I spent serving my punishment in Hel.  It was roughly six weeks ago in your time that I was released and made my way to Midgard.”  The god began pacing again, giving Clint the impression of a great cat measuring the dimensions of his zoo enclosure.

“When I arrived here, Thor insisted our first stop be your organization’s Helicarrier.  I cannot say that I was pleased to find myself in that setting again.  And even less pleased with Director Fury’s insistence that I be caged while they decided my fate.”  At this, Loki uttered a small laugh before continuing.  ”I daresay that Thor was even more upset by that than I.  His bellows carried throughout the halls; even through the glass of my cell.”

Clint gave a small wince, imagining the amount of ire Thor had been displaying in order to be heard in the reinforced holding cells.

“But, eventually, my brother’s pleas worked, and I was set free.  With a long and specific set of rules and regulations,” Loki sighed.  ”I was given living quarters not far from here; monitored, of course.  But I have been doing very little in the way of living.  More like…existing.”

Turning to level a steady gaze at Clint, Loki said, “You are the first person I have truly spoken to since my arrival.  Not counting small daily interactions with shop keepers and whatnot.  Other than Thor, you are all I have, Barton.”

Clint wasn’t sure how to feel, hearing his own thoughts and feelings mirrored back at him from the source of all of his troubles.  Anger was forefront, but he was unsure what or who he should be angry with.  He wanted to think Loki deserved it, but he was having a hard time justifying that to himself.  He’d taken his punishment, it should have been over.  It didn’t seem fair to Clint that he should suffer through Hel just to wind up in this purgatory of isolation.

It was a sickening parallel and Clint didn’t want to see anyone suffering the same fate he did.  Even if it was the same man who had forced it on him.

“You said before, you came here because Asgard wouldn’t have you back,” Clint said slowly, carefully.  “That you didn’t _want_ to go back.  And you chose to come here because of that.  And other reasons.”

Loki was regarding him warily.  “I do remember saying that, yes.”

“These other reasons,” Clint went on.  “Any of them have to do with me?”

Loki froze, face expressionless, but Clint had picked out his tells a long time ago.  He’d hit his target, even when he was shooting blind.  Damn, he was good.

Loki’s mouth worked, but no words were forthcoming.  He took a half-step back, then seemed to catch himself and straightened his spine, shooting a helpless look at Clint.  Turning from the archer’s curious stare, Loki took a deep breath before huffing it out and remaining silent.

“No pulling that disappearing act,” Clint warned.  ”I can see you thinking about it.”

“Am I truly that transparent,” Loki asked softly, an edge of panic in his voice.  Without waiting for an answer, the god continued.  ”It seems as if there is little I can hide from you, Barton.  Nor does it seem wise to continue to try and do so.  Yes.  Many, if not all of my reasons for coming here had to do with you.  I was not lying when I said I found you intriguing.  But perhaps I…understated my interest.”

Loki chanced a quick glance over his shoulder, gauging the archer’s reaction to his confession.  He only hoped that he hadn’t undone all the progress that they had made.

Clint could tell Loki was on the verge of bolting, every line of his body screamed retreat.  He watched him carefully, arms crossed over his chest, while he told him everything Clint had already worked out on his own.

“So, it _is_ because I’m cute,” he said when Loki was finished.

Loki whirled around then, eyes wide, teeth bared in a snarl.  “Do not mock me, archer!” he hissed.  “You wanted an answer to your question and I gave it.”

“I’m not mocking you,” Clint said, holding his hands up.  “Well, okay, maybe I am a little, but only because you took so damn long to say it.”

Silence for  a few beats, then, “What?”

“You really think I didn’t notice?” Clint asked, his hands going to his pockets as he leaned against the wall behind him.  “Come on, you’re the one who keeps extolling my various virtues, and you think I wouldn’t pick up on that?  Nice job not dropping dinner on the floor earlier, but I saw how close you came to it.  You could barely keep eye-contact the whole time we were talking and you were blushing so hard I thought you were gonna pass out.”

Loki merely looked back, mortified to be caught out so blatantly.

“I… blushed?” was the only thing he could think of to say.

Clint merely grinned back at him.  “You haven’t stopped.” 

“So all is laid bare, then.  And…you do not seem distressed by this revelation,” Loki huffed, before spearing Clint with an oddly bright gaze.  “I suppose I should be thankful.  There was a part of me that feared your anger would resurface if you knew about the depth of my…feelings.”  Loki dropped his eyes to the floor in front of him, one hand coming up to briefly touch his cheek, feeling the flush Barton had mentioned.

“It is what it is,” Clint shrugged.  ”Can’t really control what the heart wants.”

“I tried, though,” Loki replied quietly.  ”I told myself I had no business feeling such things for you.  And I haven’t the slightest idea when or how such a thing even came to pass.”  

Clint watched Loki as he crossed the room to sink down onto the couch. The god leaned forward and clasped his hands between his knees, fingers twining nervously before he continued.  ”I know this is admission is unexpected, at best, but I do hope it will not derail what we have started here.  As you said, just a few short days ago you would have happily ended me.  I will not presume to gain anything beyond friendship from you, Barton.  That is of the utmost importance to me.  I swear that my more base feelings will not become an issue.”

“I’m not worried about that,” Clint said, fixing Loki with a steely gaze.  “I can tell when I’m being played.  You’re not playing me.  Just don’t lie to me, Loki.  That’s all I ask.”

He crossed the room and perched on the far end of the couch, bare feet on the cushion as he balanced precariously on the arm.  He seemed more comfortable up there, putting distance between them.

“I’ve not lied to you since we started speaking again,” Loki said, glancing over at Clint.  “I have no reason to.”

“Good,” Clint said.  “Because I want to trust you.  I really do.  I want to be able to say that I forgive you for what you did and have it actually mean something.”  He let Loki absorb those words before going on.  “You can’t keep things like that from me,” he continued.  “Even if I didn’t figure it out myself, it would be something holding you back.”

Loki seemed to think on what he’d said before nodding, looking down at his hands.  “You are sure you’re not… angry, then?”  He looked back up with such a conflicted expression, Clint could feel that ache in his throat return.

“Why would I be angry?” he asked, genuinely confused.  “Confused, maybe, but no, I’m not angry.  Like I said, it is what it is.  What’s the point of being angry?  You’ve obviously beaten yourself up over it more than I ever would anyway.”

“I…I feared you would be angry because you _hated_ me.  Finding out that the one who has damaged you most has now formed an…attraction to you is not an easy burden to bear.”  Loki fidgeted, feeling that cursed blush deepen until his face was fairly burning.  ”I thought that if you knew it would negate my need to help you and make you doubt my sincerity.  That you would think I was only doing so for my own personal gain.”

“Nope,” Clint stated airily.  ”Like I said, Princess.  I know when I’m being played.  I may be confused as hell, but there’s no anger here.”

Loki breathed out a sigh of relief.  ”Good.  Because I am quite sincere in doing all I can to help repair the damage I have caused.  And I seek nothing in return beyond your acceptance.  That alone is more than I ever dared hope for, and I require no more than that.”

“Feeding me is a good start,” Clint said, rubbing his eye with the palm of his hand.  The exhaustion was beginning to get to him.  Three nights of little sleep was steadily draining even his reserves.  Now that he was home, clean, dry and fed, his body was beginning to shut down.  “Could do with a little less randomly showing up at my apartment, though.  My neighbors can be… kinda nosy.”

Loki had noticed Clint drooping and hurried to stand to his feet.  The sudden shift of the couch almost caused Clint to tumble from his perch.

“Ah, forgive me, I’ve kept you too long,” he said, backing away as Clint blinking sleepily at him from the other end of the couch.  “I should go, and let you get your rest.”

Clint yawned before grinning at Loki as he retreated.  ”It’s ok.  I’m sorta glad you stopped by.  Put to rest a few more questions.”

Loki allowed himself a small smile which faded slightly as he reached for the doorknob.  ”I do not wish to draw unwanted attention your way.  I shall try to limit myself from appearing on your doorstep too often.”

“Or you could, I don’t know… _call_  before you come over,” Clint said pointedly.

“Oh.  Yes.  I suppose I could, at that,” Loki replied sheepishly.

Clint voiced a small chuckle as he stood and crossed to the small table next to the door.  ”Culture shock, eh?  Didn’t figure they had phones in Asgard.”

Loki shook his head ruefully.  ”No, nothing of the sort.  But I shall make use of your technology and save you the reoccurring surprise of finding me awaiting your return home.”

Clint scribbled out his number on a small slip of paper and pressed it into Loki’s hand before opening the door.  ”No worries.”

Folding the paper into a small square, Loki tucked it into his pocket and inclined his head briefly.  ”Sleep well, Clint,” he murmured before slipping out the door and down the stairs to the street below.

Clint had to grip the door as Loki passed.  The sound of his given name in that deep, quiet voice caused a strange lightness in his chest, and that ache in his throat had returned.  He watched the retreating back until he was out of sight, almost hoping he would turn and look at him one last time.  When he didn’t, Clint let his hand slide down the door to the knob and push it shut.  The sound of the lock clicking into place was a punctuation to his disappointment.

Resting his forehead against the door, Clint blinked down at the floor between his feet, brow furrowed at his conflicting thoughts.  The biggest question was why he nearly swooned on his own doorstep simply because Loki said his name as he passed.

The only thing he could come up with was exhaustion.  He was overtired, and Loki’s confession had maybe played into his sense of compassion. 

With a tired grunt, Clint pushed away from the door and padded towards his bedroom.  After a few hours of sleep, his head would clear and he wouldn’t even remember that momentary lapse. 

That was what he kept telling himself, even as his mind sank deep into slumber

 

 


End file.
